It's still oppressively hot at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, dear blog reader. And, the drums, as usual, still never cease. If you're in the UK, you may have noticed. The heat, that is, not the drums never ceasing. Unless you live next door to a drum shop, obviously. Apparently, it's going to get hotter next week. Much, much hotter. Even as it stands though, it's often too damned hot to think. But it is not, it would appear, too damned hot to keep yer actual Keith Telly Topping from updating From The North's dear blog readers with a smallish taste of what's been goin' down in Groovetown. Or, what's been goin' down at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House, anyway. The rest of Groovetown is another matter entirely. Y'feel me?
It's jolly rare, dear blog reader, that yer actual Keith Telly Topping gets the time (or, indeed, the inclination) to blog twice in a calendar week; it's even rarer these days, that he gets to do an actual essay or article on a specific topic rather than merely a collection of the usual random ... stuff (most of it drawn from his Facebook page if we're being strictly turthful here). On two counts, then, the last From The North bloggerisationisms update, on Tuesday, was highly unusual. And, possibly worth you all having a gander at if you haven't already done so. No pressure, it's there if you want to read it.
Given that this blogger's slow and reasonably methodical meander through the subject of the post-war British B-movie on the last bloggerisationisms update namechecked several dozen examples of the genre it was, consequently, quite annoying that Talking Pictures TV only went and showed two movies that this bloggger completely missed in B Crumble & The Stinkers: The British Post-War B-Movie - A Re-Assessment within seventy two hours of the blog going on-line. Firstly, they showed Charles Saunders' 1959 thriller Naked Fury - starring Reed De Rouen, Leigh Madsion and From The North favourite Kenneth Cope later that same evening Mocking, as they did so, this blogger's piss-poor efforts at comprehensiveness.
And then, early the following morning (so terrifyingly early that only suffers from severe insomnia, like this blogger, could've possibly caught it), there was an opportunity to see Francis Searle's The Marked One (1963) - featuring William Lucas, Zena Walker and Patrick Jordan. Both of which film should, this blogger freely admits, have copped at least a passing mentionette in the essay in question.
Ah well, dear blog reader, them's the breaks this blogger supposes. So, as a consequence of having already blogged mid-week - and, also, because pretty much sod-all else of any interest has occurred in the UK news this week - this latest bloggerisationisms update will revert to the usual 'random ... stuff' malarkey and will round-up a collection of this blogger's recent Facebook activities. And, some other 'random ... stuff.' Mind you, that said dear blog reader, whilst 'sod all else of any interest has occurred in the UK news this week' there have been a few minor incidents of slight interest. You may have noticed. Some of them, admittedly, were wee-im-yer-own-pants funnier than others.
'I'm telling you, Boz, it's easy. All you have to do is incite your supporters to descend on parliament and kill everyone. If that doesn't work, just gaffer-tape yourself to the chair in The Office and then carry on acting as if you own the place.'
The most curious thing about this week's fast-moving political malarkey, however, was a question raised by the BBC News's 'we do the thinking so you don't have to' article Boris Johnson Resignation: Your Questions Answered. And, the question which most needs answering is, are Shelley Duck and Barry Tuck related? This blogger believes the people have a right to know.
It's an old aphorism, dear blog reader, that 'a week is a long time in politics', of course. This so-called 'Mystic Veg' lady now, presumably, knows the absolute truth of that assertion. A week is a long time politics. And, so is a day.
At least, it's probably fair to say she would have learned such a harsh life-lesson when this happened, less than twenty four hours after she'd, very publicly, made her Prime Minister prediction. The Asparagus has, it would seem, spoken falsely to you, Jemima. So, what now? Is it really back to consulting the entrails of chickens to find out who will win the Premier League this season?
This blogger did, however, very much enjoy the story of one of Bashing Boris's last ministerial appointments before his already thin authority evaporated completely, Andrea Jenkyns (no, me neither), the new education secretary who, less than twenty four hours later, was observed making a very rude gesture in public. One wonders how long it will be before some youngling scallywag, due to get detention for doing the same thing to their maths teacher, uses the 'Andrea Jenkyns (no, me neither) did it and she didn't get kept back after school to do lines.' It really is true, dear blog reader - there's one law for them and one law for everybody else.
And so to stuff that doesn't involve the weather or the political turmoil which this country is now enduring, dear blog reader. This week, inevitably, saw the arrival of incoming preview discs in the mail at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. But, before we get onto the series finales of From The North favourites Strange New Worlds and The Man Who Fell To Earth, firstly, a word-or-several from our sponsor. Which have some relevance to both of these episodes. 'We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when/Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend/Which came as a surprise, I spoke into his eyes/I thought you died alone. A long long time ago.' Talented lad, that, dear blog reader. One should always trust the poetry of a chap who looks good in a dress, this blogger believes.
Strange New Worlds: A Quality Of Mercy. 'You know the Klingons, there's nothing they wouldn't rather solve with a Bat'leth!' Well, dear blog reader, Romulans! And Him. And Her. And ... The Thing. That, in case you were wondering, is the spoiler-friendly version of this here review. This blogger had been wondering for ten weeks how they were going to get around inclusion of The Romulans in this series given that it takes place a deacde or more before the events of Balance Of Terror. How they did it was, actually, really quite clever - they, remade Baslance Of Terror with a different Enterprise crew and then [spoiler] it never happened [end spoiler]. Best line of the episode - if not the series thus far - 'I'm an engineer not a miracle worker, Mister Spock!' The dialogue was pretty much all terrific (and, really funny in places. 'Not interrupting?' 'No, I was just ... talking to myself'). The song which was used in the second-to-last scene (Melissa Carper's 'Makin' Memories') felt a bit pointless to this blogger; the use of songs to highlight an emotion which the production want the audience to feel is a trait of American TV over the last couple of decades (one which has started to filter into UK drama too). It can work brilliantly - I'm sure we can all think of our favourite examples from Buffy or The West Wing, for example - but, sometimes - and this was one of the latter examples - it feels like hitting the audience of the head with a mallet. To make sure they got the point - even if it was really obvious - just in case some of them might've managed to miss it. But, as for the episode's end ... well, that's series two sorted.
The Man Who Fell To Earth: The Man Who Sold The World. 'They're not a bundle of laughs but they're not bent on the decimation of all mankind!' They pulled it off, dear blog reader. This blogger was slightly worried for a while there that they weren't going to; that all of the investment Keith Telly Topping has made to this remarkable series over the last ten weeks might've been for nothing and it was all going to fall to pieces like so much wet cardboard in ones hands. But, no, that's didn't happen, thank goodness. 'It's not magic, it's evolution!' Lyrical, poetic, beautiful. And, again, funny too. 'Jesus Christ!' 'Exactly. Look what they did to Him!' So, how did we get here, to this place? To this time? Through the power of language. The power of beauty. And then, 'Five Years', the real cherry on the cake. There's no news yet on whether Showtime want a second series, although Alex Kurtzman, reportedly, has said he 'has ideas' and would be quite prepared for that eventuality. But, if this is the end for The Man Who Fell To Earth then that was, quite simply, the best TV drama possibly since Twin Peaks: The Return. The was that good. from The North's favourite TV show of the year? It's going to take something quite extraordinary to better it.
In other news, dear blog reader, it's nice to know that The Doctor now has a piece of paper with his (honorary) qualifications of it.
With the first episode of The Sandman just four weeks away, there is a very good piece by Elizabeth Evitts Dickinson of the Washington Times, Neil Gaiman's Books Have Enchanted Millions. Finally, Hollywood Is On Board which you should probably check out at your earliest opportunity have you not already done so, dear blog reader. Neil himself clearly enjoyed it, telling his dear Facebook fiends: 'A very spoooooooky photo, which makes me look like a 1960s vampire, or a particularly grumpy serial killer. But, actually, a really good article.' Neil is correct, of course. On both counts.
Thursday morning's UFO episode broadcast on the new Legend Channel (one hundred and forty eight on your tellybox's Sky Planner, dear blog readers) at 8am was The Sound Of Silence. Not the worst episode of the series by a long way (a guest cast of Susan Jameson, Michael Jayston, Richard Vernon ... what's not to love?) But it is, by a distance, the strangest. And, this blogger means, by a considerable distance. Check out a one-line synopsis of UFO episodes on virtually any online resource (like Wiki just to take the most obvious example) and, for The Sound Of Silence, this will say: 'a show jumper is abducted by the aliens.' And that's it - that is, indeed, pretty much a complete summation up the entire episode in just eight words. Obviously, those aliens were having problems with getting their equestrian sports squad into the Olympics and needed to field a ringer. On the other hand, the scenes featuring the flick-knife wielding 'hippie' are hilarious. And, what's more, they would've been hilarious in 1970. 'Love and peace, man. And, if I can stab you in the bladder that'd, like, be really together and, like, far out."
Remember, dear blog reader. Does not the good book say 'Thou shalt not suffer a hippie to live'? Probably not come to think about it, though it undeniably should. Primal Scream had the right idea.
In addition, on Friday we had a broadcast of Reflections In The Water to consider. Supposedly it's one of the more popular UFO episodes with the Fanderson cognoscenti, but this blogger personally finds it a bit slow-moving and, well, dull. Plus it's, essentially a remake of Invasion Of The Bodysnatchers without the wit or the imagination of the original. Bonus points: Barry Gray having lots of fun with his Moog making all the 'blippy-bloopy-wooooo' noises inside The Dome; an almost pre-pubescent James Cosmo; lots of shots of Anouska Hempel looking all concerned for the safety of Ed Straker and Paul Foster and biting her lip. Minus point: Nowhere near enough Wanda Ventham.
Police in Nigeria have, reportedly, rescued seventy seven people, including children, from a church where they have been confined in the South-Western state of Ondo. Some of them are believed to have been there for months. A police spokesperson said many had been told to expect The Second Coming in April and had abandoned school to witness the event. The raid came after a mother complained that her children were missing and she thought they were in the church. Police say they are investigating a case of suspected mass abduction after the raid on the Whole Bible Believers Church in the Valentino area of Ondo. The pastor of the Pentecostal church, David Anifowoshe and his deputy have been arrested, while the victims have been taken into the care of the authorities.
In all, police say they rescued twenty six children, eight teenagers and forty three adults. The Second Coming is a Christian belief in the return of Jesus Christ after his Biblical ascension to Heaven. The Rapture is the - frankly a bit bonkers - idea that Christian believers will be taken to Heaven at The Second Coming. Taken directly to Heaven without having to pass 'Go' or pay two hundred pounds. You knew that, right?
Some restaurants in the newly opened 'Tasty & That's It' fast food chain, which replaced McDonald's in Russia, will temporarily stop serving fries, according to Russian media. Oh, the inherent tragedy. A shortage of the correct variety of potatoes means diners will have to find a different side dish to accompany their burgers and nuggets. The company claims it expects to have fries back on the menu 'by autumn.' One or two people even believed them. McDonald's pulled out of Russia in protest at the invasion of Ukraine. The American fast food giant sold its restaurants to a Russian businessman and in June several of its outlets reopened under the name 'Vkusno i Tochka'. But a month after opening, one of the key items on the menu is in short supply. 'Rustic potatoes' - a thicker-cut version of the traditional French fry - may also be unavailable.
And now, dear blog reader, a new and semi-regular From The North featurette which has proved somewhat popular amongst this blogger's lovely Facebook fiends, Memorably Daft Lines From British Horror Movies Of The 1970s. Number One (in what was, originally, a series of several but is, now, a series of loads): Beryl Reid: 'How are you?' Nicky Henson: 'I'm dead, mother ... Apart from that, I couldn't be better!' Psychomania.
This blogger's old fiend, Peter, saw the above photo and commented, in relation to Nicky Henson: 'Surely, that's David Warner.' To which this blogger replied: 'No, Peter, this is David Warner.' (The image, of course, comes from one of this blogger's favourite movies, Peter Hall's 1970 heist caper film Perfect Friday). And, someone else said' and don't call him Shirley.' Which was funny.
There was also much discussion on this blogger's Facebook page concerning how pure drop-dead sexy Nicky looks in his white poloneck from several of this blogger's beast ladygirl fiends. Plus, of course, as this blogger's fiend Nick Cooper commented, no discussion of Psychomania is ever complete without considering this scene. 'Shall I shut the door?' 'Yes please, love!'
Number Two (in a series of loads): William Ellis: 'If we do get to summon up The Big Daddy with the horns and the tail, he gets to bring his own liquor, his own bird and his own pot.' Dracula AD 1972. Admittedly, that particular 'memorably daft line' could've been any one of several dozen memorably daft lines that feature in AD 72. 'Come in for a bite,' just to take one example.
As someone once wrote about this film, in a - half-way decent - book (which is still available from Telos Publishing) 'One of the most hilariously dated movies of any era - by having a specific date as part of the film's title, it is forever trapped within a time capsule. Yet, perhaps because of this, Dracula AD 1972 has aged so utterly terribly that it has transcended its humble origins to become little short of a comedy masterpiece. Exploitation cinema is always at its finest when polemic and dogma meet head-on and, instead of producing the expected gestalt of social-comment, ends up with a mélange of clashing and fractious statements. Dracula AD 1972's like that. It so desperately wants to be a serious, po-faced observation on important youth culture issues. Instead, by the sheer banality of its construction, the film comes over as Carry On Biting, full of unexpected laughs at, literally, every turn ... Watch this one with a few friends, a bottle of wine and a Chinese takeaway and, simply, thank God that you weren't born in the 1870s and, thus, never got a chance to see incompetent genius like this.' Smart lad, that. Oh hang on, dear blog reader, it was me. Okay, forget all of the above ...
The blogger, nevertheless, still believes that Dracula AD 1972 is great, dear blog reader - and not just for all the 'wrong' reasons either. Dick Bush's cinematography is simply gorgeous, Mike Vickers' music is excellent and everyone in the cast is giving it one hundred and ten per cent and not sending it up as it would've been so easy to do. Caroline Munro in a, frequent, state of some undress, again, what's not to love? Don Houghton's script is damned silly (and a decade at least out of time in terms of its view of popular youth culture) but the plot does stand up to close scrutiny. Plus, you know, if life was a party, this blogger would rather like his own to feature top rock outfit Stoneground playing 'Alligator Man' in the front room of The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. That'd work.
This blogger's fine fiend, Dan, said that he had always wondered if Christopher Neame's costume was 'the same outfit the bloke wears in House Of Whipcord' (Robert Tayman playing the delightfully-named Mark E Desade).
He was a right shifty fekker, that one this blogger noted - stitching-up poor Penny Irving like a Toffer, Tommy Nutters in such a manner. What a West Ham, eh? Pure Pete Tong on so many levels. At least with Johnny Alucard what you saw was what you got. And, all the ladies dug him the mostest, baby and thought he was well-groovy. Dig the music, kids!'
Number Three (in a series of loads): Mister Pertwee: 'My name is Paul Henderson.' Geoffrey Bayldon: 'Whom?' Mister Pertwee: 'The film actor.' Geoffrey Bayldon: 'I'm afraid, sir, that I do not patronise the Kinema!' The House That Dripped Blood. What a carry-on! This blogger's fiend Young Malcolm felt including this particular sequence in Memorably Daft Lines ... was unfair since it took place in a deliberately comedic segment of the 1970 Amicus portmanteau movie. This blogger replied that he didn't say these were bad lines (though, some of them undeniably are). Merely 'daft'.
Number Four (in a series of loads): Anna Palk: 'Brom, do you think you could escort me to the bedroom? To protect me from things that go bang in the night?!' Tower Of Evil. No wonder her husband, poor Mister Derek, looks so disgusted.
This blogger's favourite sarky review of any horror movie (one which he mentioned in the 'Critique' section of A Vault Of Horror) concerns Tower Of Evil. It comes from a contributor to the Rotten Tomatoes website: 'The underground set is unconvincing, yet not as unconvincing as the alleged experts sent to look for it. Dressed like total professionals - skin-tight flares, miniskirts, go-go pants - and carrying the tools of their profession - marijuana, red wine - these people are as close to being archaeologists as they are to likeable human beings. I can't recommend this film to anyone other than connoisseurs of appalling Seventies fashion.' Boom and, indeed, boom.
Number Five (in a series of loads): James Chase: 'Take your pants off.' Ann Michelle: 'I thought this was for a cider ad?' James Chase: 'It'll ... correct a bad angle.' Virgin Witch. Classy!
Once again, this blogger's firm fiend Young Malcolm was vastly unimpressed with the inclusion of Virgin Witch causing this blogger to quote his very self yet again. 'A trashy sleaze epic, Virgin Witch may well be the Casablanca of the porn/horror crossover that briefly flourished in Britain during this era. Such a juxtaposition of styles was, as Kim Newman memorably noted, "Marginal cinema, where double-bill fillers can be sold as either sex or violence." We get to see nude moonlit pagan ceremonies, some simulated sex and an early (fumbling) attempt at the emancipation-of-women-through-witchcraft theme subsequently explored by numerous movies and TV series in the 1990s. Sex is treated as a primal force in Virgin Witch and, for the most part, a lack of cynicism and subliminal distaste in the performances makes the film at least watchable. Having said that, some of the acting on display is embarrassingly bad and the script doesn't have any sort of proper climax. Nevertheless, despite a reputation lower than rattlesnake piss to many horror fans for its obvious popularity amongst the dirty mac brigade, Virgin Witch remains a significant product of its "let it all hang out" era.'
Number Six (in a series of loads); Lewis Fiander: 'How is your brother?' Martine Beswick: 'He hasn't been himself lately.' Doctor Jekyll & Sister Hyde. Try as he might, this blogger simply couldn't find a photo of the relevant scene in the movie featuring Lew and Martine. So, Gerald Sim'll just have to do instead.
Although, a picture of Lewis is never an unwelcome visitor to this blog, let it be noted.
Number Seven (in a series of loads): Alfred Marks: 'Either this is coincidence, some kinky freak burglary turned tragic. Or, we've got more than one supernormal maniac on our hands!' Scream & Scream Again.
In 'The Busted Pot' discothèque, meanwhile, Amen Corner perform 'Scream & Scream Again' and 'When We Make Love'. For the UK Columbia/RCA video release of the movie in 1989, presumably for copyright reasons, these songs were replaced by some rather horrible, anonymous musak (someone playing a Hammond organ with their feet by the sound of it). Which left poor Andy Fairweather-Lowe mouthing away on the visuals and no sound emerging. The 2002 MGM DVD, thankfully, restores the correct soundtrack.
Incidentally, working as 'musical director' on this, his only film, was Shel Talmy, the legendary producer of (at various times) The Who, The Kinks, David Bowie, The Small Faces, Manfred Mann, The Easybeats, The Creation and, specific to Scream & Scream Again, Amen Corner.
Number Eight (in a series of loads): Milton Reid: 'Hel-' Doctor Phibes Rises Again.
A movie, incidentally, which features the single greatest opening line of any film, ever. Bar none. 'Rumours have been circulating about Doctor Phibes. All of them, unfortunately, [are] true!'
Mind you, as this blogger's fiend Ken noted: 'Good old Milton! Did he ever get any decent amount of dialogue in any of his roles?' This blogger replied that, he certainly didn't in Captain Clegg.
Number Nine (in a series of loads): Edward Woodward: 'Voyeurs, transvestites, narcissists, beastialists ... It's a funny world we live in.' Alex Davion: 'Are you trying to tell me that a girl sucking blood from a man's neck can induce an orgasm?' Incense For The Damned.
Which, as this blogger told his Facebook fiend Nigel, should have been one of the best horror movies Britain's ever produced. It was based on one of the great vampire novels of the Twentieth Century (Simon Raven's Doctors Wear Scarlet). It had that extraordinary cast (Peter Cushing, Patrick Macnee, Edward Woodward, Alex Davion, Johnny Sekka, Patrick Mower, et al) and it was directed by Bob Hartford-Davies who could be a bit of a hack but who also made some great films. But it all went tits-up because they ran out of money halfway through shooting and the producers decided to try and cobble together something out of what they had. And then filmed a few additional scenes (with a different director since Hartford-Davies wanted nothing to do with their plans), including that notorious eight minute orgy sequence and the ending which, kind of, contradicted everything that the previous ninety minutes had set-up. Yet, for all that, it still has a few great moments.
Number Ten: Vincent Price: 'How much are we paying the weepers?' Andrew McCulloch: 'Five Groats a head, my lord.' Vincent Price: 'See that they weep till dawn!' Cry Of The Banshee.
Now, dear blog reader, a conversation overheard backstage at The Weeley Fesitval in 1971; 'Hey Woody?' 'Yeah, Ron?' 'Why can't Rod ever wear anything ordinary?'
Meanwhile, on stage, 'holy eighteen minute guitar solo.'
Hell, it was the Seventies, dear blog reader.
We come, at this point, with a dreadful inevitability to the inexcusably-regular part of From The North dedicated to this blogger's on-going medical-related doings. For those dear blog readers who haven't been following this on-going saga which seems to have been on-going longer than the average Grateful Dead gig, it goes something like this: This blogger spent weeks feeling awful; had five days in hospital; was discharged; received B12 injections; then more injections; somewhat recovered his appetite; got a diagnosis; had a consultant's meeting; continued to suffer fatigue and insomnia; endured a second endoscopy; had another consultation; got toothache; had an extraction; which took ages to heal; had yet another consultation; spent a whole week where nothing remotely health-related occurred; was given further - really painful - injections; had an echocardiogram; had more blood extraction and had yet another hospital visit to see the consultant. This week has seen the usual - thoroughly whinge-worthy - insomnia (and various other symptoms) causing lethargy, listlessness and continuing exhaustion. So, no change there, then. That said, the hot weather hasn't exactly helped with sleeping or with feeling energetic.
That said, dear blog reader, some things in this blogger's life are really deserved.
England nonchalantly and with some style completed a record run chase of three hundred and seventy eight to beat India in rapid time on the final morning of the fifth test at Edgbaston. Centuries from Joe Root and Jonny Bairstow took England to their highest successful pursuit in test cricket and the ninth-largest in the history of the game. Needing another one hundred and nineteen from their overnight two hundred and fifty nine for three on Tuesday morning, Root and Bairstow coasted with incredible ease, taking England to a memorable seven-wicket win, one of their all-time greatest victories before lunch. Bairstow's one hundred and fourteen not out was his second century of the match, while Root ended unbeaten on one hundred and forty two in an unbroken partnership of two hundred and sixty nine. They carried England to a new height in what is turning into a spectacular test summer under new captain Ben Stokes and coach Brendon McCullum. The win ensured a series that was postponed from last summer was drawn two-two but, more importantly, it was the greatest validation to date of England's ultra-positive approach to test cricket. Their next series is with South Africa in August, while an entirely different squad under new white-ball captain Jos Buttler played the first of three T20s against India on Thursday. And lost, heavily. Just five weeks ago, England's test cricket was in the doldrums, with McCullum and Stokes given the task of reviving a team that had won only once in seventeen attempts. While the manner of the three-nil series win over New Zealand was thrilling, it felt like a different prospect to play so-called 'Bazball' against the powerful Indians. The home side were under huge pressure at different times during this match. They were eighty three for five in response to India's first-innings score of four hundred and sixteen, then on Monday India were three hundred and twenty runs ahead with five second-innings wickets still in hand. And yet, England's insistence that they could chase any target was proved correct, thanks largely to the cavalier progress they made on a scintillating fourth afternoon. Strangely, given the magnitude of the result, the fifth morning was almost anticlimactic as Root and Bairstow removed what little jeopardy remained in the chase. That takes nothing away from what England have accomplished - to overhaul three hundred and seventy eight for the loss of only three wickets is a truly remarkable feat. Superlatives for England's pair of Yorkshire batsmen have long been exhausted. This was Bairstow's fourth hundred in five innings and sixth this year, Root has made eleven since the beginning of 2021. Their rebuild from one hundred and nine for three Monday ran India ragged. And, added bonus, they wiped the sneering grin from arch-sledger Virat Kolhi's face. Which was funny. When Root resumed on seventy six and Bairstow on seventy two on Tuesday morning, India still had fielders scattered, allowing runs to flow. Root played dreamy drives and clips off the pads. After he had run Mohammed Siraj to third man for his twenty eighth test century, he unfurled the trick shots. Shardul Thakur was belted back over his head for four, then reverse-scooped for six. Bairstow was more circumspect, but still pummelled anything short. He only showed nerves, briefly, on ninety nine, going to three figures with a pinched single off Ravindra Jadeja and celebrating with an emotional embrace from Root. By the end, their partnership was the fourth-highest by any pair in the fourth innings of a test, while the run chase surpassed the previous England record of three hundred and fifty nine, set when Stokes shocked - and stunned - Australia at Headingley in 2019. Victory, a formality for most of the morning, was completed almost half-an-hour before lunch. This was a crushing defeat for India. Last summer they were by far the superior team in the first four tests of the series (even, for the most part, in the one they lost), but they called off the fifth test, schedled for Manchester, after a Covid outbreak in their backroom staff and, as a consequence, missed out on a first series win in England since 2007. Not only that, but this is the largest target they have failed to defend in test cricket history. And, again, it's worth at this point recalling the sour gurn on Mister Kolhi's mush at what a right shite state of affairs all of this malarkey had turned into and having a right good chuckle. India made a selection error in omitting spinner Ravichandran Ashwin, carelessly threw away a dominant position when they were batting in their second innings, then were completely passive as England overwhelmed them in the run chase. They were subsequently fined forty per cent of their match fee and penalised two ICC World Test Championship points for a slow over-rate. Might the tourists have avoided the mistakes had Jasprit Bumrah not had to stand in for captain Rohit Sharma, who was ruled out with Covid? Realistically, the way England played, nothing would have stopped them.
As previously noted on this blog, it seems naught but five minutes since the last football season ended and yet, already the 2022-23 pre-season is underway. In particular this blogger's beloved (and now, thankfully, sold) Magpies made a winning start on Saturday, beating National League neighbours Gatesheed behind closed doors in blazing sunshine at Darsley Park. Kick-off was before noon, the hosts debuting their new home kit and taking a lead on the half-hour when Matt Ritchie beat on-loan Magpie Dan Langley in the 'heed goal. One-nil to the Black and Whites became two-nil to the Blacxk and Whites two minutes after the restart when Sean Longstaff was tripped in the area and Joelinton supplied a routine finish from the penalty spot. The visitors halved the deficit on the hour through Paul Blackett before a second penalty award to Newcastle which saw Longstaff fire over. United's two-goal advantage was restored ten minutes from time when Miguel Almirón dispossessed a defender out on the right and galloped into the box before shooting beyond the goalkeeper. Seven minutes later the Paraguayan grabbed his second from similar range after Allan Saint-Maximin unselfishly played him in. And there was time for a fifth Newcastle goal in the closing seconds; Saint-Maximin marauding forward and teeing up Joelinton to square the ball from the left side of the box for Longstaff to finish. Of twenty one players featuring for United, Kell Watts completed ninety minutes while the remaining twenty had forty five minute workouts. There was no debut for recent recruits Nick Pope or Sven Botman, while other omissions included Jamal Lewis, Fabian Schär, Bruno Guimarães and Chris Wood. G'yiddip Th' Toon. Now, keep that one hundred per cent record up for the next nine months and this blogger will be a jolly happy chap. The goals can be seen here.
There are some movie stars for whom the frisson of fame and the exultation of acting are not enough. James Caan, who has died this week aged eighty two, sought satisfaction in extreme sports, drugs and a highly colourful personal life. However, the many superb portrayals he gave in scores of films and TV series will outlive the gossip and odd sensational headline. His defining role came as Sonny Corleone in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather (1972). Caan, who was nominated for an Oscar, was perfect as the hedonistic and volatile heir apparent to the Corleone family, whose bloody, violent ways end in his own death. The film, which points to the links between the mafia and American capitalism, portrays men such as Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) as businessmen. But Sonny, a remorselessly vicious hoodlum driven by family loyalty, represented the true nature of the Corleone family. Soon after The Godfather, Caan was wallowing in violence again as the embittered hero of Rollerball (1975). Although presented as the moral centre of the film, Caan's character, Jonathan E, is as sadistic as everyone else around him. More violence came his way as the brutal CIA man in Sam Peckinpah's The Killer Elite. In contrast, he portrayed Billy Rose, the gambling, philandering husband of Barbra Streisand's Fanny Brice in Funny Lady, all in the same year. Caan had a relatively small role in Richard Attenborough's World War II epic A Bridge Too Far (1977), but made his mark as Staff Sergeant Eddie Dohun who refuses to let a comrade die on his watch, even if it means pulling a gun on an unhelpful medic.
Caan was well teamed with Geneviève Bujold in Claude Lelouch's romance set in the US, Another Man, Another Chance (1977) and with Jane Fonda in the western Comes A Horseman (1978). The latter title chimed with Caan, who was once dubbed the Jewish cowboy because of his earlier participation in rodeos and his ownership of a stable of horses. The film critic Pauline Kael wrote of Caan at that stage in his career that 'he's not all of a piece as a performer: he's never quite himself - you feel he's concealing himself rather than revealing a character.' He had then recently emerged from a messy divorce from his second wife, which may have affected his subsequent performances. In 1981, Caan's sister Barbara, to whom he was very close and who ran his production company, died of leukaemia, aged thirty eight. 'She was my best friend, my manager,' he said. 'She was the only person I was afraid of.' Then he had a motorcycle accident and his house was nearly destroyed by a landslide. There were several flops, undeservedly in the case of Michael Mann's Thief (1981), released as Violent Streets in the UK and deservedly with the whimsical Kiss Me Goodbye (1982) - Caan's attempts at comedy were slow to be appreciated. His first and last directorial effort, Hide In Plain Sight (1980), in which he starred as a man in search of his ex-wife and children, was generally given a chilly critical reception. Caan explained that 'some jerk at MGM altered the movie.'
On top of this, he walked off the set of The Holcroft Covenant (1985) and was replaced by Michael Caine. A few years earlier, when he was still bankable, Caan had reportedly turned down three Oscar winners, M*A*S*H, Kramer Versus Kramer ('it was such Middle-Class, bourgeois baloney') and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. During his fallow period between 1982 and 1987, he spent his days coaching his son Scott's football and basketball teams and his nights at the Playboy Mansion ('There were tons of girls over there and, call me sick, call me crazy, but I liked 'em!') and taking, in his own words, 'shitloads of cocaine.' Although he received professional help and was cured of the addiction, by this time he was unemployable in Hollywood. 'I hardly ever go out,' he told an interviewer in 1986. 'I spend most of my time upstairs in my bedroom, wearing out one spot on the bed where I sit when I'm making phone calls.' When he had not appeared in a film for four years, people in Los Angeles were beginning to ask, 'What ever happened to ...?' Then his friend Coppola gave him the lead in Gardens Of Stone (1987). Finding a new gravitas, Caan was utterly convincing as a stiff-necked but compassionate army sergeant who feels that 'there is nothing to win and no way of winning it' in Viet'nam. Caan's comeback became entrenched with a difficult role in Rob Reiner's Misery (1990) - he spends most of the movie bedridden and doped as a seriously injured writer kept captive by his 'number one fan' (Kathy Bates, who won the best actress Oscar).
But Caan hit the headlines again in the 1990s for the wrong reasons. When his brother Ronnie was held at gunpoint by gangsters, Caan enlisted the help of his mafia pal Anthony The Animal Fiato. Caan arranged to meet and pay the kidnappers, then arrived with Fiato and his crew with guns and baseball bats. On another occasion, the FBI intercepted a phone conversation between Fiato and Caan concerning the actor Joe Pesci. Caan asked his friend to 'take care' of Pesci after learning about an unpaid eight thousand dollar bill from Pesci's stay at a friend's Miami hotel. When Ronnie Lorenzo, an LA mobster, was extremely arrested for drug trafficking, kidnap and extortion, Caan offered his home as collateral toward the two million bucks bail and appeared as a character witness for his 'best friend'. Caan was also the first significant film star to admit to being friends with the 'Hollywood madam' Heidi Fleiss, although he claimed that the relationship was platonic. He was sued by a woman who claimed he had tried to strangle her. (The matter was settled out of court.) Then came the morning when he woke up in a friend's flat to find ten Los Angeles policemen standing over him with guns drawn. Outside, they had discovered a body of an aspiring actor, Mark Schwartz, on the pavement eight storeys below. Caan was questioned for nearly ten hours before they released him, having concluded that Schwartz had fallen while trying to break into the flat. 'It was a nightmare,' Caan said. 'I woke up and this whole thing had happened while I was asleep. But it sure looked really bad. I looked guilty.' Caan survived all this to rebuild his career. Seldom unemployed, he traded happily on his 1970s persona, particularly playing older and wiser versions of Sonny Corleone, either as mafia bosses, louche gamblers or businessmen with mafia connections in films such as Honeymoon In Vegas (1992), Mickey Blue Eyes (1999), with Hugh Grant's British art auctioneer getting mixed up with the mob, City Of Ghosts (2002) and Dogville (2003).
Although Caan had all the right Italian gestures as Sonny, he was the son of Jewish parents, Sophie and Arthur Caan, who were refugees from Nazi Germany. He was born in The Bronx and raised in Queens, where his father was a kosher butcher. After attending various schools, he entered two universities, Michigan State University, at which he was a football hero and Hofstra, Long Island, but failed to graduate from either. While studying at Hofstra, he became interested in acting and was soon taken on by the Neighborhood Playhouse School Of The Theatre in New York, where he studied under Sanford Meisner, whose technique was allied to the method. One of Caan's fellow students was Robert Duvall, with whom he was to co-star in The Godfather, as well as in Robert Altman's moon-landing drama, Countdown (1967), Coppola's The Rain People (1969) and The Killer Elite. He had originally auditioned for The Godfather role of Michael Corleone and was reportedly favoured for the role by studio executives. But after Coppola's insistence, Al Pacino was chosen. Caan played the older brother Sonny and was fitted with more than one hundred and forty explosive blood pellets to simulate gunshot wounds for the character's death scene. In the early 1960s, Caan made his off-Broadway debut in Schnitzler's La Ronde and started to appear on television, mostly as juvenile delinquents, in series including Naked City, Route 66, The Untouchables and Doctor Kildare. After an uncredited bit-part as a sailor with a radio in Billy Wilder's Irma La Douce (1963), he rose to stardom remarkably quickly. His first role was as a young thug terrorising Olivia de Havilland in Lady In A Cage (1964). Tough insouciance was his style, well suited to handsome but rather emotionless features. This cool and calculating facet of Caan's was exploited by Howard Hawks in two movies, as a daredevil racing driver in Red Line 7000 (1965) and as the laid-back Mississippi, John Wayne's gunslinging sidekick in El Dorado (1967).
In The Rain People, the first of the three films Caan made with Coppola, a certain vulnerability and warmth surfaced as he played a soft-hearted drifter. He also showed a tender side as a naive sailor who falls for a prostitute in Cinderella Liberty (1973) and in Karel Reisz's The Gambler (1974), in which Caan, intense and sympathetic, gives one of his finest performances as a university professor addicted to gambling. In later years, Caan was content to have the security of a popular TV series, Las Vegas (2003 to 2007), appearing as a former CIA agent now the head of security at the fictional Montecito resort and casino. He was also willing to take supporting roles in movies such as Get Smart (2008) and Mercy (2009), which was written by and starred his son Scott, one of the stars of Hawaii Five-0 in which Caan also guested. He also featured in Middle Men (2009), The Outsider (2014) and The Good Neighbor [sic] (2016). In Carol Morley's Out Of Blue (2018), an adaptation of Martin Amis's novel Night Train, he was the intimidating father of a murdered astrophysicist daughter and his movie work continued up to the time of his death. Caan was divorced four times. He is survived by a daughter, Tara, from his first marriage, to Dee Jay Mathis; a son, the actor Scott, from his second, to Sheila Ryan; a son, Alexander, from his third marriage, to Ingrid Hajek and two sons, James and Jacob, from his fourth, to Linda Stokes.
Parts of a Scum Mail on Sunday story about the Duke of Sussex's dispute over his security were 'potentially defamatory', a judge has said in an initial ruling. Prince 'Arold is suing Associated Newspapers Limited for shitloads of bread for libel over a February article about his alleged 'legal battle' with the Home Office. His barrister said that the story falsely suggested he had 'lied' and 'cynically' tried to manipulate public opinion. But ANL claimed it contained 'no hint of impropriety' and was not defamatory. One or two people even believed them. Though, significantly, not the judge. The High Court ruling is the first stage of the libel battle, which aims to establish what the article meant and what claims the newspaper group will have to defend. The court will decide after further hearings whether the duke's libel case succeeds or fails and why. The story, published in the Scum Mail on Sunday and online, referred to the Duke of Sussex's separate legal case against the Home Office over security arrangements when he and his family are in the UK. Mister Justice Nicklin ruled that the article meant Prince Hazza was responsible for 'spinning the facts' and 'misleading the public' into thinking he had been offering to pay for police protection and was challenging a refusal by the government to allow him to do so. The article also maintained that court documents revealed the duke had only offered to fund the security arrangements after the legal battle began and he had unjustifiably tried to prevent documents and witness statements in the case becoming public, the judge said. But he rejected claims by Prince Harry's legal team that the article meant the prince had 'lied'. Lawyers for the newspaper publisher had argued the focus of the article was on statements put out by the duke's 'PR machine' rather than by Prince Hal his very self. But the judge was having none of it, saying that without 'further clarification', readers would believe statements made on the prince's behalf were 'approved' by him. In a written statement to last month's preliminary hearing, Prince Harry said it had caused him 'substantial hurt, embarrassment and distress, which is continuing.' The latest libel ruling comes a day after a court heard Prince Harry faced 'significant tensions' with a top aide to the Queen involved in downgrading his security. And, this horseshit constitutes 'news', apparently.
There are but two outstanding candidates for this week's From The North Headline Of The Week award, dear blog reader. Firstly, the Brighton Argus's rather alarming Fears For Drunk Seagulls Staggering Around As Flying Ant Nightmare Tightens Its Grip.
There is, of course, only but one way to deal with any sort of 'Flying Ant Nightmare', dear blog reader. To welcome our new insect Overlords.
The other nominees for the From The North Headline Of The Week award goes to our old fiends at the Daily Lies, for their not in the least bit sensationalist Town In Lockdown After Killer Snails The Size Of Rats Frighten Residents.
To which, of course, we say ...
And finally, dear blog reader, this ...
Because you just can't beat a good bit of boneless flap, can you?
